three am

It's 3am. And I write to you Because I know You will not answer. The fan purrs in the Background. Reminding me of the heat. The sheets cling to my legs. As I send my thoughts to you, As they travel on the gossamer wings Of the fireflies, Floating with the rare breeze On the petals of a dandelion. As the recycled words spread across the frothing waves. In my lost hours of insomnia, My thoughts often return to the honeysuckle sound of your voice to the comfort I felt in your presence. My whole fist clasped around your sole finger. Your smiling grey eyes staring into mine.

Your daughter.

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